Final Hand

I cut loose from yesterday’s quay,

made the very storms my lee;

I took up brand-new dice to choose

the gambler’s bliss is the art to lose.

To fall again, I need new ground,

old wounds clot, new scars must be found

Even stone might split and leaf,

if tears bore force beyond belief.

Darkness ends neither today nor tomorrow;

one uprising of flame will rout its sorrow.

Grief is life’s lone verity;

still practise the smile’s small levity.

Dreams are fragile, but still they stay,

like roots that fight through stone and clay.

The heart learns from every scar

reading its fate on shattered star

When nothing remains but sand

the soul keeps dealing its final hand

Wow, great poem!!!

Yes, very good!!

It's so good! Very well written!